


bet on me

by leetlebird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Fluff and Light Angst, M/M, The Hallmark Channel Made Me Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetlebird/pseuds/leetlebird
Summary: Kent Parson has starred in enough Hallmark movies to know that love is just a story, and he's fine with that. So when the co-star of his current film bets that he can get Kent to fall in love in just one week, Kent doesn't think twice about taking the offer.There's no way he can lose, right? He's got this in the bag.He's probably got this in the bag.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This had been sitting half-written in a Gdoc since, like...... August. It was inspired by a Discord conversation, and I know a couple other people from that server are working on their own versions of "Kent as a Hallmark actor who falls in love with his co-star" stories, but with different love interests than this one. So -- maybe one day this will be part of a collection! But for now, just take it for what it is. :)
> 
> Thank you so much to Ashe for the beta!! I def needed the validation to move forward with the silly rom-com I have created. 
> 
> Title is from this little indie movie, _High School Musical 2_ , I totally recommend checking it out if you manage to track it down. (Don't hate me.) This whole thing is completely written and finished, so I'll be updating the other chapters soon. Enjoy!!

Being a multi-picture Hallmark star wasn’t exactly a surefire way to get recognized in public, even when you were a gay Hallmark star. Kent mainly got recognized because he’d been engaged to an Oscar-nominated actor, which was mostly big news because that was how the general public found out Jack wasn’t straight. Kent became a little more famous when he was dumped by said Oscar-nominated actor a couple months later. That was two years ago, and it had only been in the past few months that fans asking for pictures with Kent didn’t also get all serious, putting a hand on his shoulder and asking him if he was _okay._

The truth was, Kent was fine. He had a Porsche. His cat had fifteen thousand Instagram followers. He got laid semi-regularly, and sometimes even by people who didn’t know he was a C-list celebrity. There wasn’t really much else that he needed.

Well -- scratch that. What Kent needed was a break from the actor who was playing the love interest in his new movie.

Alexei Mashkov was loud, and huge, and always laughing in a way that made Kent feel like he was missing something. He was -- unsettling, in a way Kent wasn’t used to. Usually Kent could get through a kissing screen test on autopilot, but even after the director had Kent and Mashkov kiss for the tenth time, there was something about it that made Kent nervous.

Mashkov was just -- weird. Kent didn’t like it.

Kent also didn’t like how everyone thought it was totally normal to refer to a grown man as “Tater”, but whatever stupid nickname Alexei Mashkov chose to go by was his own business.

It had been kind of annoying when Kent walked in on Mashkov making out with some random extra, mostly because it was genuinely creepy to hear her saying _Tater_ over and over -- like, what a total buzzkill. Kent had to give the guy some credit, though, because if his reputation was to be believed and he really did hook up with someone new every other night, he had to be doing something right.

He really had to be, to get that many people willing to say _Tater_ in bed. Ew.

“Kent, Alexei, don’t go anywhere,” Nick said when shooting wrapped for the day. Kent glanced over at Mashkov before quickly looking away. He didn’t want to spend any extra alone time with his co-star, but it wasn’t exactly like he could say no to the director.

“What's up?” Kent said. He focused on Nick, because making eye contact with Nick didn’t make his stomach feel unsettled.

Nick surveyed him for a second. “Hmm, yep. Exactly.”

Kent tried to resist the urge to tell Nick to shove it. “Exactly what, Nick?” He’d worked with Nick too frequently in the past to care about politeness by now. If Nick had been willing to rehire him after the six-month temper tantrum that followed his breakup with Jack, Kent figured there was pretty much nothing he could do to truly get in the director’s bad graces. 

“Do you feel like you have good chemistry so far?” Nick asked. He always had been straight to the point. 

“Uh --”

“Don’t bother answering that. It needs work. What I’m seeing, honestly, is a lot of potential for real chemistry, but there’s something off about it.” Nick gave Kent a dry look. “Maybe if you could try to act more comfortable instead of freezing up every time Alexei comes near you.”

Kent tried to fix his posture as discreetly as he could; it was probably kind of obvious that he was trying not to stand at an angle where Mashkov could even see his facial expression, let alone make eye contact.

“We need practice kissing?” Mashkov said. 

Kent prayed to four different gods in the span of a second.

“Hell no,” Nick said, because apparently prayer worked. “Don’t force it. What I’m asking you to do is spend more time together. We won’t start shooting the big romantic scenes for a couple more days, so you have some time. I don’t need you to be best friends, but I want to see more of a natural rapport by Friday. Think of it as homework.”

“Yes,” Mashkov said. “Is no problem.”

Kent narrowed his eyes at Nick, but he couldn’t exactly say no, no matter how much he balked at the idea of spending his free time with Mashkov. “Yeah, okay.”

Mashkov smiled at Kent, teeth flashing white, and Kent’s gaze skittered away. He felt weird, self-conscious in a way that he wasn’t used to. He didn’t know where to look.

“Christ,” Nick mumbled. He dropped his clipboard on the table, loud enough that Kent jumped. “You two are going to need a lot of work.”

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


So, apparently Mashkov wanted to start getting to know Kent better right away. Kent could only guess as much when Mashkov followed him into his trailer and sat down on Kent’s favorite chair.

“Make yourself at home,” Kent said. He winced a little when Mashkov put his feet up on Kent’s table. “Dude, I eat off that.”

“Why are you eating in trailer?” Mashkov asked, not looking guilty and not taking his feet down. “Should be in nice restaurants.” He smiled, a little devilish. “Eating out.”

Yeah. Kent knew that Mashkov had a reputation for his willingness to have sex with pretty much anyone who was interested, but that didn’t mean he needed to come into Kent’s trailer and drop innuendos everywhere. “Take your feet down.”

Mashkov complied. “Now I’m see why no one taking you out to restaurants, Parson. No fun.”

“Are you trying to talk about my dating life?” Kent asked, hoping he sounded cold and unimpressed. His skin felt too hot.

“What is there to talk about?” Mashkov’s laugh was booming and cheerful, but Kent could barely hear it over his pulse pounding against his temples.

Kent didn’t want to date. It was an outdated process based on dishonesty and manipulation, and all for the pointless goal of finding your “soulmate”, which was a fancy way of saying “someone you’re willing to put up with because it’s better than being alone”.

So no, he didn’t date. Ever.

“What about you, Mashkov?” he said. His voice sounded weird, so he focused on making it level. “There a reason people say you go out with someone different every week? Seems like none of them ever want another shot at you afterward, huh?”

Mashkov surveyed Kent for a few long moments, then smirked like he was in on a secret. “You are interesting, Parson.”

Kent abruptly felt like a dick. He knew he should apologize. “Yeah, whatever. I get a little annoyed with this subject, so, my bad.”

“If you tired of being alone, is easy to change,” Mashkov said. “Unless you are still sad from old breakup?”

Kent opened his mouth and closed it. His face felt hot. He didn’t expect things to get this personal. “That’s not -- I’m just saying I’m sick of people making this big deal about love. It’s honestly not that important to me.”

“Your fans will cry if they hear this.”

“My fans are idiots,” Kent said drily. And then felt like a dick, again. “I mean -- if anyone can watch these movies and actually think they’re telling some profound story with, like, real emotion? Come on.”

Mashkov got up from the table and started inspecting the mini-fridge in Kent’s trailer. There wasn’t much to see -- just a few touristy magnets, no personal photos. “Just because love is in movie doesn’t mean is fake. Love is in every movie because it is best thing. Most important thing. You don’t see this?”

“What, and you can’t see how everything about _love_ is manufactured and scripted to make money?” Kent said. He didn’t want to be talking about this. “People want a connection, to believe they’re special. _Love_ is just a suspended state of denial because people don’t want to admit we’re always going to be alone, no matter how many anniversaries pass.”

“Well,” Mashkov said with a shrug, “you sound very convinced. I guess that is my job to prove you wrong.”

Kent didn't like where this was going. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

Mashkov’s laugh was huge, booming, and slightly insulting, at least in Kent’s opinion. “I am not want to sleep with you either, Parson.” Mashkov glanced him over. “Well. I take back. But I have a better idea to prove I’m right.”

Kent felt out of breath. It was harder to understand Mashkov’s accent when Kent was distracted like this. He watched as Mashkov sat down in one of Kent’s chairs. “What?”

“I am saying that one week from now, you will fall in love. I will be matchmaker, set you up for dates with men I find. You think love is not real because you hide from it. I bet you that one week of dates will change your mind.”

It took a second for the concept to fully sink in, and then Kent couldn’t stop himself from letting out a huge snort. “Are you fucking for real? A _week_?”

“Yes.” Mashkov seemed amused at Kent’s response. “Next Tuesday will be last day.”

“Who falls in love in a _week_? You’re full of shit, come on.”

Mashkov smiled, more sly than warm. “I am betting that you will. What you think? If you are so sure you safe from love, take the bet. Nothing to lose.”

That honestly didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “What are we betting on? Money?”

“You buy me nice steak dinner if I win, how is that?” Mashkov must have seen the look on Kent’s face. “Just as friends, Parson. You are too much of hardass for me, I think. But that sounds good?”

Kent had this bet in the fucking bag. He kind of wanted the prize to be bigger, but he almost felt bad for Mashkov at this point. “If I win, I want pizza. Not really a huge steak fan.”

Mashkov grinned. “Pizza is cheap. We are not being fair.”

“Get me a fancy bottle of wine and we’ll call it good,” Kent said. Then -- “You should know, though, this is probably the shittiest bet I’ve ever heard of. There is literally no way for me to lose.”

Mashkov leaned forward in his chair, stretching his arms and looking way too pleased with himself. “Is only shitty bet because I cannot lose. You fall in love, I am prove right. You don’t fall in love, you are still alone. Either way, I do not lose.”

Kent scrambled for a second. He was already feeling weird about this bet, because he usually was fine with the idea of being alone, but now it sounded bad. “How about this, then? I’ll give you another bet, like, on the side. I can prove that you’re wrong about love. That it’s all fake and doesn’t mean anything.”

Mashkov raised his eyebrows. He was already starting to get visible stubble on his jaw, Kent noticed. “Oh?”

Kent ignored the part of him yelling that this was a terrible idea. “Same deal. You’ll fall in love within a week. With me.”

Mashkov laughed outright, which only offended Kent a little bit. “How I fall in love with you when I know you are faking? You tell me already you don’t believe in love.”

“Yeah,” Kent said. He didn’t bother hiding how dense he thought Tater was being, because -- seriously? “That’s the point. You fall in love with me in a week, even though I’m telling you right now it’s for a bet and won’t ever be real, because love is about following a script. I’m a fucking Hallmark actor, I know the script.”

“You are terrible,” Mashkov said. “I am impressed. So, Parson, your trailer look clean. You are very tidy person?”

That was kind of a conversation whiplash for Kent. “I guess? What --”

“And do you cook?”

Kent stared. “Are you fucking interviewing me?”

“These are things I need to know to find you a man to love.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I don’t cook. I pay someone to do that.”

“Cats or dogs?”

“Fuck you, follow my Instagram.” 

Mashkov’s grin widened. “I will. Favorite Impressionist painter?”

Kent had no fucking idea what that was. “Van Gogh.”

The look on Mashkov’s face made it clear that wasn’t a good answer, but that just meant Mashkov was a dork for knowing shit about art. “Maybe I not put you with a man who loves art, then. That is okay. I will email you more questions later.”

Kent tried not to laugh. “You will fucking not. Get out of my trailer.”

“I’m going,” Mashkov said, and he climbed to his feet. It was weird having someone so tall in Kent’s trailer; Kent was usually alone in here. “And I want to look at your plants up close before I go. Come show me the way out.”

It would be easy to just point at the door, but it wasn’t going to kill Kent to stand up. “See ya,” he said, for lack of anything better to say, and reached for the door.

Mashkov beat him there, though. He pulled the door open and stepped to the side, then glanced back at Kent. 

Kent couldn’t figure out what Mashkov needed. “What’s up?”

Mashkov looked at him. Kent couldn’t figure out his expression. “After you.”

“Oh.” That was kind of embarrassing, but whatever. Maybe he could turn it into something, the first step of getting Mashkov to think he was in love with Kent. Like Kent was some sad sack who was just waiting for a romantic gentleman to treat him right, or something nauseating like that. He played it up for a few seconds, avoided Mashkov’s gaze, then looked up. “Plants are just out here.”

Later, after Kent had pointed out the different species growing around his trailer and Tater had somehow teased their names out of him -- shit, that was embarrassing, he didn’t actually need anyone to know that the one right by the door was named George -- Kent locked up his trailer and got in his Porsche, alone. 

He drove to his fancy hotel, alone, blasting trashy pop music the whole way. He ate dinner, alone, and cleaned up after himself right away. 

There was no one to criticize his taste in music, no one to make a mess in his hotel room and not clean it up. There was no one in his bed to make the temperature uncomfortably warm during the night, no one to kick him while they were sleeping or keep him awake by tossing and turning. 

Kent had everything exactly how he wanted it.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kent tried to focus on what his assistant, Veronica, was telling him. Something about his diet. Calories.

It was hard to pay attention when Mashkov was standing across the set, completely shirtless, patiently getting all greased up so his muscles would gleam more for the cameras.

“Look to the left, please,” the guy putting on Kent’s makeup said, and Kent jumped back to attention.

Kent waited until the makeup team was done with his face, then lifted his mesh tank top so they could get a little grease on his abs. “More’s good,” he said, and the guy rolled his eyes but added one more swipe.

So Kent really liked filming shirtless scenes. Sue him. He was proud of his body, and now that the gay movies were taking off enough that the studio was willing to keep financing more, it usually meant that he got to act across from a ripped, sexy guy with his top off.

Mashkov’s biceps looked like they were practically thicker than Kent’s waist, so yeah, he was on board with this.

“Go get ‘em,” the makeup artist said dryly, and Kent didn’t need the assurance to know he looked good. The second they gave him the signal to go, Kent ambled across the locker room, casually lifting his shirt above his head to sling it over his shoulder. He held his ab muscles tight and smirked over at Mashkov.

“Cut!” Nick yelled. “Jesus, Kent. Paul’s a shy, lonely writer who hasn’t been touched in three years, not a porn star. Try getting in character and let’s run this again.”

Mashkov laughed at Kent then, his whole face bright, eyes somehow sparkling under the harsh stage lights. Kent didn’t mind, and after a second he couldn’t help but smile too.

It didn’t hurt that he saw Mashkov sneaking another look at Kent’s abs. Not that Kent needed the assurance. It just -- felt good.

When they were done filming for the day, Mashkov grabbed Kent before he could leave. “Get ready to go,” he said. “I have date for you.”

“Great,” Kent said sourly. He’d kind of hoped that wouldn’t happen today. But on the other hand, he was feeling a little thirsty after the scene they’d just shot, so if this guy ended up being decent-looking Kent might end up going home with him. “How’d you find someone so fast? Ex-boyfriend of yours?”

Mashkov wrinkled his nose. “No. We have very different taste, I think. And I never send an ex to you, Parson. That just setting you up for failure, to go from me to you.”

“I seriously doubt you’re that good.”

Mashkov gave him an amused look. “Okay, Parson. You are adorable.”

Apparently Mashkov wanted Kent to meet him at the local bowling alley, which wasn't a great sign for the date’s quality. Kent hadn’t gone bowling since he was fourteen, and he’d never been on a bowling date because he wasn’t that cheesy.

“There is your man,” Mashkov whispered, way too excited and right against Kent's ear as they traded in their shoes. “I will be hanging at snack bar. Have fun!”

The guy was kind of hot, Kent thought, even if he thumped Kent way too hard on the back in greeting. “Where’s your ball?” the dude said, which was an interesting way of saying hello.

Kent had already noticed the guy’s custom-made bowling ball painted with rainbow flames. It was kind of hard to miss. “Can’t say I have my own. Anyway, I’m Kent. Nice to meet you.”

“Okay, Kent. I’m Pierce. Hope you’re okay with losing.”

Kent was more than a little competitive himself, so he tried to take it as a friendly challenge. “It’s been awhile since I’ve bowled, but I can bring it.”

The guy -- Pierce -- scoffed a little, and pushed a wad of bills into Kent’s hand. “Get what you want for yourself, burger and Coke for me. I’ll get the lane ready.”

Kent had never actually worked as a waiter, not even in any of his acting roles, but whatever. By the time he got back, carrying Pierce’s unhealthy shit plus a chicken wrap for himself -- about as healthy as he could get at a bowling alley diner -- Pierce had already thrown the first ball.

Three turns later, Kent was winning by two points when he went up again. “Here comes the money,” he said, lining up the shot, and Pierce didn’t laugh. Pierce hadn’t been smiling since Kent rolled a strike on his first turn.

It turned into a gutter ball, which was bound to happen at some point. “Aw, fuck.”

Now Pierce laughed. It didn’t sound very friendly, but Kent was also a paranoid person who hated dating, so -- he could have been wrong. 

His next ball knocked down all the pins. “There we go,” he said, throwing himself into the chair next to Pierce and grabbing a drink of his Coke, because it wasn’t like he didn’t know what his mouth looked like wrapped around a straw. “Strike, strike, baby.”

“That’s not a strike,” Pierce said. He got up and grabbed his tacky rainbow ball. “It’s a spare.”

Jesus Christ. Kent let Pierce do his whole warm-up thing, the stupid power stance and approach, and he glanced around to see where Tater went off to. Mashkov. Whatever. 

And -- there he was. Practically recreating that Last Supper painting, holding court with a whole crowd of men and more than a few women. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go get a drink. Back in a few.”

“What am _I_ supposed to do while you’re gone?” Pierce said, and Kent didn’t feel motivated enough to answer. 

When he reached the diner counter where Tater was sitting, a semi-hot dude was in the middle of talking with Tater. He was leaning in, being flirty, and it was kind of annoying for Tater to be picking up in the middle of Kent’s date. Kent grabbed the back of Tater’s collar and tugged. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Interviews,” Tater said, as the other man turned and glared at Kent. Jeez. “You are tough product to sell.”

Kent was at a loss for words. He stole a chicken finger from Tater’s plate and crammed it in his mouth in an attempt to at least get rid of what he was sure was an idiotic expression on his face.

“Now go, please.” Tater handed him another chicken finger. “Is bad manners to leave date. You will never fall in love this way.”

Kent could have said something smart about this guy being an obnoxious dickhead, but whatever. He could let Tater think he had some skill for matchmaking for a little while longer. “Cool, have fun. Don’t sleep with too many of the guys you’re checking out for me.”

Tater’s eyes glinted, and Kent didn’t bother checking if any of the other guys heard him.

Kent’s date with Pierce did not go well from there. Pierce hit some kind of mental block and couldn’t pick up any of his spares, and Kent was on some kind of crazy roll where he kept getting strikes. 

“That’s called a turkey, right?” Kent checked as he slid back into his seat. Pierce did not reply. 

And -- fuck it. This dude sucked. He was annoying and whiny and a sore loser and didn’t even seem to appreciate how Kent was sticking his ass out before lining up his swing every time, and Kent was over it. 

The next time he was up, Pierce threw a gutterball. Kent had the self-control not to laugh, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity once Pierce sat down in a huff. “Nice work. What was it you said when we got here? Hope you’re okay with losing?”

Apparently Pierce was not okay with losing, because he said something along the lines of “Fuck you, asshole,” and stormed out. There was very little dignity in storming out while carrying a rainbow-emblazoned bowling ball, or in having to stop to take off his tacky bowling shoes at the counter, so the effect was pretty much lost. Kent only felt marginally guilty.

“Is this seat taken?” Tater asked some time later. Kent tried not to visibly startle. 

“Whatever, dude.” Of course one of the only English phrases Tater would be able to smoothly pull off would be _that_. “You know how to pick ‘em, huh?”

“He very nice when I talked to him,” Tater replied. “Maybe you are the problem.” He grinned and grabbed a bowling ball off the rack. “You think I can still come from behind and beat you?”

Could he ever. “We’ll see.”

As it turned out, Tater couldn’t bowl to save his life. Kent’s lucky streak seemed to have run its course, but even then Tater couldn’t keep up. He bowled two gutterballs in a row, laughing the first time and laughing even harder the second time. 

“Bro, you are absolute shit,” Kent said, but he only knocked down two pins on his next turn, so it wasn’t like he had much room to criticize.

When their game finished, Tater offered to pay for another one. It was getting kind of late and Kent straight up needed his beauty sleep, as his career literally depended on it, but what the hell. He was having fun, and Tater kind of owed it to him anyway after setting him up with such a disaster of a first date. 

“What was wrong with him?” Tater asked later. He seemed like he was in a good mood despite the fact that he was obviously not going to score in the triple digits this game. “I like Pierce. Seemed very spunky.”

“Nah, bro, he sucked majorly.” Kent fiddled with the empty basket that his chicken wrap had come in. When he looked up, Tater was still waiting for him, face expectant. “Like, he was not cool with losing. At all.” 

“So you are looking for man who is happy to be dominated, then?”

Kent tossed the basket aside and groaned. “I just can’t with you. Not even gonna try.”

Tater shook his head, smiling. He bowled another gutterball. Kent couldn’t believe how fucking huge his hands were, really.

Whatever. Not the point. “You wanna grab a couple smoothies and get out of here?”

They ended up sitting at the counter, where Tater had been waiting earlier. The crowd of suitors had dispersed at this point. Kent still wasn’t convinced they were actually meant to be _his_ suitors, but he didn’t want to talk about that right now.

Well -- actually. He had his own part of the bet to win, and this might be his best way in right now. “So. You meet anyone good tonight?”

“Oh, yes. We have many options.” 

Tater didn’t say anything more, just took a huge slurp of his smoothie. Which wasn’t helpful at all, but Kent threw himself in head first anyway. “Yeah, you’ll need a shit-ton of options if you want this to work.” He let it hang there, waiting, but Tater didn’t bite. “‘Cause, like -- I dunno. Whatever.”

In the silence that followed, Tater took a ridiculously loud slurp of his smoothie and then scooted toward Kent until their knees were almost touching. “What is it?”

Tater didn’t exactly seem genuine, if the knowing look on his face was anything to go by, but Rome wasn’t conquered in a fucking day. Kent stared as tragically as he could at his mango smoothie, avoiding Tater’s gaze. “Well. You said it yourself. I’m not super fun to date.”

“Aw, poor baby. I’m sure you can be at least some fun.”

Kent gritted his teeth and watched Tater take a big drink from his smoothie. He had the urge to reach over and push the glass up so the smoothie would dump out all over Tater’s face, but that would probably not help Tater fall in love with him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Tater smiled and nudged Kent with his elbow, gently. “Are you finishing your smoothie?”

It had way too many calories for Kent’s diet plan, but he still grabbed his glass reflexively. “Yes. Fuck off.”

The laugh Kent received in return was bright, surprised, and -- something else. Maybe affectionate, maybe just friendly. 

But it was something.


	2. Chapter 2

“You are most interesting man I’ve ever met,” Tater said, voice hoarse. He stared deep into Kent’s eyes. “I have never felt like this.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Kent whispered. He smiled, tears squeezing out of his eyes, and Tater touched Kent’s face reverently, thumbing the tears away.

Kent closed his eyes and tilted his head back as Tater’s fingers fanned out, cupping Kent’s face. When Tater finally leaned down to kiss him, it was equal parts gentle and passionate, sweet and dominating. Kent let his hands drift up and tucked them into the front of Tater’s wool coat.

“Cut!”

It took a few seconds for Kent’s head to stop feeling foggy. Sometimes filming was like that. “What? Was it bad?”

“I think it was good,” Tater said.

Nick gave them a thumbs-up. “It was perfect. We got what we needed. We can cut to a wider shot from there, so just -- Tater, can you put your arms around him? Perfect. Kent, lean in. More snuggly than that. Good. Okay, just hold that, hold that....”

Kent closed his eyes and breathed in the wool coat that was pressed up against his face. He was kind of uncomfortably warm, and the coat had that funky smell that low-budget costumes tended to have. He wondered what Tater’s real clothes would smell like. He hoped he could get out of this embrace soon, because he was starting to suffocate.

“That’s great,” Nick finally said. “That’s the shot; that’s what they’ll remember. We’re done for the day, boys.”

Kent pulled himself free, ignoring Tater’s chuckle when Kent’s sweater got stuck on one of Tater’s buttons for a second. “Nothing more romantic than a green screen sunset,” Kent said.

“They should be using green screen to make you taller,” Tater said, ruffling Kent’s hair. Kent leveled him with a flat stare until Tater pushed him toward the dressing room, which wasn’t really what Kent had been going for. “Go put on your clothes. I have date for you who likes little men.”

Kent bit his lip and looked away, then gave Tater a small smile. “Shut up. Okay.”

It was time for Kent to really get his plan rolling, and he was pretty sure he knew what it would take to get Tater interested. A strategic cocktail of confidence, a biting sense of humor, and carefully-timed vulnerability, and Tater would be hooked. As long as Tater didn’t catch on that the vulnerable moments were played up to capture his attention, the man was a goner. Kent knew his type.

An hour later, Kent wasn’t so sure that Tater knew _his_ type. Like, the guy sitting across from Kent at this Chilis (and why did Tater set up the date at Chilis, of all places?) was kind of hot, mostly because he was tall and had thick dark hair and nothing horrible going on with his face. But the good qualities pretty much stopped there.

His name was Devin, and he’d been talking about his novel for the past ten minutes. Jesus Christ.

“I think of it as basically _Lord of the Rings_ but with more sex,” Devin said, while Kent just tried not to choke on his drink. “I know Tolkienesque fantasy doesn’t always feel fresh, so I added an element of sex tourism, kind of exploring interspecies….”

Kent tuned Devin out, letting his gaze wander over to where Tater was laughing at the bar with a woman and two men. He couldn’t really tell if they were flirting or not. Tater looked -- not drunk, exactly, but definitely tipsy, looser and sillier than Kent had ever seen him. Kent couldn't help but smile.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was so boring,” Devin said, pulling Kent's attention back to his own table.

Kent wasn't sure how Devin could have gotten this far in life without realizing exactly how boring he was, but he tried to look polite. “Not boring at all. Go on, dude.”

“No, it’s fine,” Devin said, in a tone that made it pretty clear he didn’t think it was fine. “People have been telling me my dreams are impossible my whole life. I’m sure you can relate to that as an actor, so I don’t know why you’d think it’s okay not to support another artist.” He sighed, composing himself for a moment. Kent watched in awe. “This story just means a lot to me, especially after my near-death experience. I’m not going to expect you to understand.”

Kent did not really expect Devin to be so intense. He wondered if he could subtly flag Tater down to rescue him. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Devin. We can talk about --”

“I’m not really comfortable with you using my name right now.”

Kent let his mouth snap shut and just stared across the table. “Alrighty.”

Devin shifted in his chair. He picked up his menu and put it down. Finally, he gave Kent a wounded look. “This was supposed to be a fun night.”

They hadn’t even ordered yet. Kent was fairly certain he’d be more likely to purposely suffocate himself with the tablecloth than to make it through a meal with this dude. 

And -- that worked for Kent. Two failed dates in a row would pique Tater’s interest, at least. No such thing as bad press, or something. “I’m sorry, dude. Reading isn’t really my thing, but if you want to talk about your sci-fi thing you totally can.”

“Tolkien --”

Kent barrelled on. “You got an agent yet?”

Devin’s jaw visibly clenched. Bingo. “I’m actually choosing to subvert the traditionalist publishing hegemony. The current system is detrimental to the future and integrity of literature itself. Self-publication is the only ethical way to do it.”

Kent tried to hide his laugh with a cough, mostly because he didn’t want Devin to have too much dirt on him if Devin actually bothered to report back to Tater on how the date went. “Self-publishing? Do people actually read those?”

“You know what?” Devin slammed his menu down on the table. He knocked a fork onto the ground in the process, and briefly looked uncertain as to whether he should pick it up. “You lack the sensitivity that I look for in a partner. So, fuck you.” He stood up and grabbed his wallet off the table.

Kent hoped to fucking God that no one had recognized him. Most of the nearby guests were choosing to pretend not to hear what was going on, but you never know. People around here knew him. “Bro --”

Devin made this weird, mocking face at him. “You’re an idiot. Have fun with your two brain cells.” It was kind of uncreative as far as parting shots went, but Kent still felt himself turning red as Devin walked away.

_Have fun being alone forever because you’re so fucking awful,_ Kent thought, testing out rebuttals in his head as he tried to find the cocktail menu. But that one was too hypocritical to make him feel any better.

_Have fun with your hobbit orgies,_ he tried instead, and okay -- that was decently funny. Kind of. 

The server came back shortly and didn’t miss a beat when Kent explained that his companion had to cut out early. He wondered if he should Google himself again soon, check the gossip blogs. It would be just what he needed if news got out that he’d been walked out on by two different guys on back-to-back dates. 

People would make weird connections to the thing with Jack. The idea made his skin crawl.

He was just trying to figure out the best way to get things moving with Tater when his phone screen lit up. _This is very long bathroom break. Did you insult his mother?_

“Ha, ha,” Kent said out loud, sourly and completely on accident. He sent a middle finger emoji back, even though he didn’t know for sure if Tater had seen Devin leave. _Nah he bounced._

Tater dropped into the chair opposite Kent a minute later. It was slightly gratifying that he’d ditched his entourage for this. “You have a way with the men, Parson.”

Kent swallowed his bitchy rebuttal. It was a fucking challenge, but there was a _plan_. So he bit his lip and looked down at his raspberry mojito, letting the moment drag out for a few seconds. When he looked up again, he only let himself make eye contact with Tater for half a second before dropping his gaze again. “I don’t -- yeah. So this one didn’t work out.” 

“You win some, you lose some,” Tater said lightly. “He obviously not a good catch if he just walks out from you. You want to go to the beach?”

Kent wasn’t sure what exactly Tater was talking about, but he was willing to roll with the punches. “Yeah, why not?” He didn’t exactly have swim trunks packed, but it was too cold to swim anyway. 

“Good. I am going with friends, but you need some fun tonight, yes? Maybe you can date one of them, ha.”

That wasn’t what Kent had expected, and it was actually kind of intimidating to think about hanging out with Tater’s friends. If they didn’t like him, Tater would -- whatever. “Sounds like a plan. You wanna go?”

Tater raised his eyebrows. “And not let you finish your drink? Of course not.”

Kent downed the rest of his mojito in one go. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tater was smiling at him, and Kent needed air. “Like I said -- you wanna go?”

Tater pulled out his credit card, which was nice. “You are going to be trouble tonight, Parson,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Tater’s friends were all really fucking tall.

None of them seemed like total jackasses either, which made Kent feel kind of salty about the fact that Tater hadn’t set him up with any of them. It was probably because Tater didn’t think Kent was a good enough guy for any of his friends, which was pretty fair, but still. None of these guys seemed like they’d have a temper tantrum and storm out of a date.

Tater was in the middle of introducing Kent to some dude named Marty. “Friend from gym,” he explained for the fifth time in a row. Kent needed to figure out where this gym was, because all these guys were hot as shit. 

It must have been obvious what he was thinking, because Tater took his elbow and steered him toward a cooler full of beer. “No flirting with my bros, Parson,” he said, offering Kent a can. “Follow the bro code.”

Kent didn’t think that was a correct interpretation of the bro code, but he wasn’t going to risk getting turned down in front of Tater anyway. “Yeah, yeah.”

There was a half-assed attempt at a volleyball game, during which Kent feared for his life every time Tater jumped up to spike the ball, and then some of Tater’s friends moved further down the beach to make a fire. 

“Is that legal?” Kent asked. He was finishing a bag of chips that Tater had lost interest in, and he had no interest in helping get a fire started. Or getting arrested. 

“We have fires here all the time,” Tater said. He stopped and peered at Kent. Judgmentally. “You have never been to this beach?”

Somehow, five minutes later, Kent found himself walking around the lake with Tater as his weirdly eager tour guide. The leaves were changing, bright and brash in a way that always made Kent feel too aware of his age. Tater showed him the kayak launch area, a tree where people left love letters or some weird shit like that, and a grand total of nine different spots that Tater claimed were great for “lovers”. His tone of voice made it pretty clear that he was speaking from personal and satisfying experience, and Kent really didn’t like to think about that. 

It was actually kind of weird, how much Kent got stuck with Tater throughout the evening. Like, there was the walk. That was fine. But then he somehow found himself in a kayak with Tater when everybody went out on the water, and he and Tater snuck off to throw rocks in the lake while everyone else was rebuilding the fire. Then, later, when they sat around the bonfire and made s’mores, it was Tater sitting next to Kent, wrapped up in the same quilt as Kent and glowing a little orange in the night. 

Generally speaking, Kent didn’t think it was a great idea to spend this much time with Tater if he was trying to get Tater to like him. But he couldn’t deny that seeing all these sides of Tater, seeing him far away from the set, made him a little more attractive. 

He could only hope that Tater was seeing something similar in Kent. He really wanted to win that bottle of wine.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kent’s phone buzzed at five-thirty the next morning, a message from Veronica that filming was cancelled. She provided a lengthy explanation, which Kent was not interested in reading beyond the fact that their assistant director had quit and the whole production team was running around in circles. Kent settled back into bed and fell asleep almost right away.

He woke up again a little after nine, this time on his own. There weren’t any new messages from Veronica, which probably meant Kent had a day all to himself. He _never_ got those.

After using his exercise band, taking a shower, getting dressed, reading the news, and doing a couple grids of Sudoku, Kent got bored, so he texted Tater to see what he was up to. Fifteen minutes later, Tater was knocking on Kent’s hotel door.

Kent hadn’t gone out yet, so he took an extra twenty seconds to check his hair and eyebrows before letting Tater in. “So you’re not doing anything exciting with your day off?”

“No, I must stay in my character,” Tater said, all fake serious. “Thinking about how to be selling pumpkins. Looking for sad writers. Is all a lot of work.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kent offered. “I’m what they call an old pro. Method is for the mediocre.”

Tater shook his head. “But you are the one Nick always telling to get in character. I am not so sure you should take day off, Kent. You need more practice.”

“What, you wanna run lines with me?”

Tater gave him an evil grin. “To tell truth, you need more practice for kissing. Could be much better.”

Kent scowled, his face heating up so much when Tater laughed that he wondered if he was actually blushing. That was something he didn’t really do much, but he was tired today, and the unexpected schedule change was throwing him off. “We’re not -- whatever. Very funny.”

It turned out there was a group going for a daytrip into the town fifteen miles out, and Kent let Tater pressure him into going with them. It had been a while since Kent socialized with the whole team of cast and crew. “I will just sit here and grow old,” Tater said, plopping down on the couch. “I have feeling you take a long time in bathroom.”

They left Kent’s hotel pretty quickly, because Kent was actually a very low-maintenance guy, no matter what people implied otherwise.

“Don't even think about it,” Kent said when he caught Tater eyeing Kent's Porsche. “Let's see your ride.”

It was hard to act unimpressed when Kent saw Tater’s Mercedes-Benz, but he did his best. He was kind of distracted out of nowhere by a really specific fantasy that involved being leaned over the hood of the car with Tater behind him and -- yeah. It was fine.

“Glad you like,” Tater said. He opened the passenger door for Kent and grinned, a little crooked. “Most people do.”

Kent tried not to laugh. Tater’s dirty smile wasn’t helping him move past his fantasy, but whatever. “Is it safe to sit down?”

“No worries. I always clean up.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” Kent settled in and pulled down the visor to check himself out in the mirror, and soon they were driving. The windows were cracked, wind blowing against Kent’s face, and the radio was playing classic rock. For once, he didn’t mind it.

Tater looked good behind the wheel, the road spread out in front of him. Kent tried not to look too much. He felt warm, excited in a way that made it hard to hold onto his thoughts for more than a moment at a time, but that might have just been from the sun in his eyes.

“Are you excited?” Tater asked, in the middle of a Rolling Stones song Kent wouldn’t admit he liked.

“Yeah,” Kent smiled back. He immediately felt like an idiot; this was what he got for letting himself get caught up in his head. “I mean -- sure. Excited to see how shitty this place is gonna be. Like, saying we’re in the middle of nowhere is an insult to nowhere.”

“Everyone tell me, Kent Parson has bad attitude,” Tater mused. “Now I see they are very wrong.”

Kent looked out the window until he caught himself smiling like an idiot again. Christ.

When they joined the rest of the group, which was comprised mostly of the crew plus a few cast members who were much lower on the totem pole than Kent and Tater -- Kent never claimed to be humble -- a girl from the crew was pointing out this kitschy little ice cream shop that they were going to hit up.

“Aw, fuck,” Kent mumbled to no one in particular. He was already in major trouble with his diet after the stupid dates Tater had set him up on this week, and ice cream was not going to help his case.

But before he could follow the others, Tater grabbed him by the elbow. “I want to see something else. I think you will like it very much. Do you want to go with?”

This seemed suspicious. Kent didn’t think this tiny little town would have an adult superstore or anything like that, but you never knew. “What do you mean I’d like it?”

“Just trust me. You will feel like if you died and gone to heaven.”

Kent didn’t actually feel better after hearing that, but whatever. 

As soon as he followed Tater around the corner, he knew he had made a mistake. “No. Nope. I would literally rather eat a thousand calories of ice cream than this, bye.”

“No, no,” Tater said, grabbing Kent’s wrist and lowkey physically dragging him toward the door. “Think about your abs, Kent. The washboard.”

It was a convincing enough argument to get Kent through the door, but Jesus _Christ._ “Are you, like, doing this as a joke? Or do you actually want to buy a --” Kent did a double-take at a nearby shelf. “-- a dead fucking squirrel?” Holding a tiny accordion, what the _fuck._

“Wait until you see basement,” Tater said, and Kent felt his eyes bug out. Then Tater laughed. “I am just kidding. There is no basement. As far as I am knowing.” 

Tater, who claimed to have only been in the store one other time when he wanted to buy a gag gift for one of his friends, spent way too long ogling each and every animal on display. Kent went along with it until he saw a taxidermied cat, which was a line he did not want to ever cross, and he spent the next ten minutes checking up on the Instagram pages of some of the dudes he’d thirst-followed over the last year.

He was mildly salivating over a shirtless pic of this 6’5” dude with a potential steroid problem when Tater tapped him on the head. “Put your dick back in your pants, Parson. Do you get text from Hailey?”

Kent didn’t know who Hailey was. He shoved his phone in his pocket. “What’s up?”

Tater considered him for a moment. “Hailey is crew leader. She says there is a big storm coming, and they are leaving the ice cream store while it is still safe to drive. Are you okay if we stay a little while longer here? I need to buy something.”

“You need to buy something,” Kent repeated flatly. There was only one other person in the store, not including the guy with the crazy beard at the cash register, and he figured it was reasonable to assume that out of the four of them, at least one was a serial killer. “Tater, do you understand that if anyone sees me leaving this store with someone who actually _bought_ something, I will be forced to jump off a cliff and literally die? It’s in my contract.”

“Oh, Kent,” Tater said, “no one care what you do. You are not Angelina Jolie.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Kent muttered. “Okay, whatever. I’m going to the bathroom. You better be finished up with your creepy-ass purchase by the time I get back, I don’t wanna even see it.”

When Kent came back -- and he took his sweet time, even opening DuoLingo for the first time in six months -- Tater was holding a bag. It didn’t have a store label on it, which was nice in terms of going out in public. 

When Tater saw Kent, he pulled the accordion-playing squirrel out of the bag and waved it in Kent’s face, which was less nice. 

“Oh, fuck you, that’s horrible,” Kent said, but he was trying not to laugh. 

“Just jealous.” Tater shifted, looking almost apologetic. “Are you okay if we stay? I hate to drive in this weather.”

Kent didn’t get it for a second, but a sudden loud boom of thunder kind of answered that for him. He hadn’t even realized that the storm had started. “Sure, yeah. If you don’t think your car can handle the roads.”

Tater flipped him off casually. He ushered Kent toward the back of the store, where it was a little darker and they wouldn’t be directly in the store owner’s line of sight. “Is okay if we stay a bit?” Tater called, radiating charm like he hadn’t just bought a dead squirrel. “Just until rain slows down.”

The owner didn’t mind. Normally, Kent would be worried to be alone for too long with a dude like that when nobody knew where he was, because the owner of a taxidermy place seemed statistically more likely to be an axe murderer than your typical person, but Tater was probably big enough to protect Kent if things went a little horror movie.

Kent sat on the floor, which was gross. He was by the wall, almost against the window, but at least from this angle there weren’t any glass-eyed animals staring directly at him. “Do you know how long the storm’s supposed to last?”

Tater waved his phone in the air. “Checked. Said maybe thirty minutes, maybe longer.”

“Bruh.” Kent looked at the patterns of rain droplets on the window next to him, the gray sky overhead. “I don’t know if you’re gonna be able to handle me for that long.”

Tater looked at Kent like he was being dumb. “It will be fun. We have fun talks.”

“Aw, Tater. That’s so sweet of you to say.”

Tater rolled his eyes, good-natured about it, and swiped into his phone. Kent was actually kind of disappointed -- he’d thought they might talk a little more, but this was fine too.

Just as Kent was shifting his weight so he could dig his phone out of his jeans pocket, Tater bumped his elbow into Kent. “Take dead squirrel selfie with me.”

Kent snorted out a laugh, which was gross, but he tried to move past it. “Dude, no. That’s not cute.”

“You are just jealous that the squirrel is cuter than you.”

The whole thing was stupid, but Kent scooted in closer to Tater for one dumb picture, leaning against Tater’s side and letting his hand rest on Tater’s leg. It was warmer than Kent would have expected, but it was hard to focus on that when Tater was pulling the squirrel corpse out and sticking it in between their faces. 

It wasn’t a totally shitty picture. Kent’s face looked weirdly pink, and the squirrel was an abomination, but it wasn’t the worst. “Don’t post that.” 

“We can take one without the squirrel,” Tater said.

That one was way better. Kent let Tater share it. He wondered if people would interpret it as a date. Kent had never been the type to fake-date his co-stars for publicity, but this picture in particular seemed like one that might invite that kind of speculation.

And that was weird to think about. “How did you get into acting, anyway?” he asked.

“By accident,” Tater answered immediately. “I was eating in restaurant when a man asking if I want to be in a commercial. I say sure, just because I think it would be fun. After that, I keep getting more commercials. Now I am here.”

That wasn’t hard to believe -- Tater had a natural charisma about him, an easiness on the surface with something interesting going on underneath. His looks pretty much spoke for themselves. “That must have been weird, though. Was there something else you’d been planning to do that you had to give up on to, like, actually give acting a chance?”

“Yes,” Tater said, “but I was not sad to stop doing construction. Building houses is not exactly a dream for me.”

Kent was momentarily overwhelmed by the mental image of Tater working construction, shirtless and sweaty. Which was not how construction sites actually operated, outside of, like, sexy music videos. “Huh.”

“And you? You went to acting school, yes?”

Not at first. Kent was above all else practical, and he hadn’t begun to seriously pursue acting until he’d already had a few decent jobs and realized he really could have a future in this. “Yup. Totally had my eye on the Hallmark Channel the whole time, too.”

Tater turned to look at him closer. Kent had to lean away; he was still sitting close enough to feel the heat coming off Tater’s body, hadn’t moved after they took their last picture. “You are not happy about being in all these Hallmark films?”

And -- Kent had decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to be jealous of a single aspect of Jack Zimmermann’s life, Oscar nomination and all. “I mean, hey, it’s a sweet deal. Obviously not the best movies in the world, but I’m not exactly picky.”

“You have plans for better things in the future?”

Not really. Kent didn’t have the energy to want things like that anymore. “Nah, it’s cool. I am more than happy to churn out another dozen gay Hallmark flicks as long as they keep paying me, you know?” 

“I have plans. Ten years from now, all this will be little speck in the distance.” Tater grinned at Kent, then. Kent’s chest jumped a little. “But I know you too attached to these beautiful true love stories to ever stop.”

Kent laughed, more open and silly with it than he normally would be, almost a giggle. Whatever, he was tired. “Fuck you. God, my life is a fucking joke.”

Tater squeezed Kent’s knee, then laughed it off like a champ when Kent flinched a little at the touch. “Only a little. What you’ve done has meant a lot to many people. You know this?”

“Well, yeah. Duh.” He had the letters and Twitter DMs and Instagram comments to prove it. And, like, it was important. Kent knew that, or at least he’d known it back when his first gay movie had premiered. “It’d be nice to make something that’s not made for TV, though. Whatever.”

Tater was quiet for a few moments. “Soon you will. Maybe just get new agent, yes?”

“My agent is a peach,” Kent said automatically, but he felt weirdly better. 

They left when the storm cleared up, and Kent must have fallen asleep in the passenger seat of Tater’s car because he woke up with the stuffed squirrel on his lap. “You’re sick,” he said.

“So cute when you sleep,” Tater replied. 

Lying in bed with all the lights off, Kent couldn’t stop tossing and turning. He wasn’t going to win the bet, he realized, and his chest tightened. 

He’d always been competitive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more! What POSSIBLY could happen next??


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you need a timeline reminder to reorient yourself -- the bet will end on a Tuesday. 
> 
> And here it is: the ending. Enjoy!

On Sunday morning, Kent found himself stuck with the new assistant director, reading over a million scenes he’d already performed just fine the first time around. It seemed like a huge waste of time, which pissed him off. “I know this is a trying time for you,” the makeup artist said later as she wiped his face off, “but try to remember that none of us feel sorry for you.”

When Kent finally made his way back to his car, he found Tater leaning up against Kent’s Porsche in tight dark jeans and a perfectly tailored button-up, so his mood brightened considerably.

“If you scratch the paint I’ll kill you,” he said.

Tater plucked the car keys right out of Kent’s hand, grinning down at him. “We are going to dinner,” he said, his voice a low rumble in Kent’s gut. “I drive you.”

Kent shot Tater a challenging look, more for show than anything, but he climbed into the passenger seat without argument. He felt a little disappointed that he’d have to share Tater with the rest of the cast during dinner, but on the other hand it was probably a good thing. He was starting to get kind of weird, like -- whatever. It would be good to have other people around as a buffer.

Tater changed the radio to R&B oldies, which was kind of weird, but they got to the restaurant and into a parking space without Tater damaging Kent’s baby, so that was cool.

“Keys,” Kent said in the parking lot. He held out his hand when Tater ignored him. “I’m not kidding.”

“What?” Tater gave him an injured look. “You not like my driving?”

“I don’t like when other people drive my car. Come on.”

Tater looked at Kent for a moment, then placed the keys in Kent’s palm. He laid one gigantic hand over Kent’s, folding Kent’s fingers closed over the key and holding Kent’s hand in place with the other. “If you want. Okay.”

Kent tried to breathe normally, even if he felt amazingly small in comparison to Tater. His legs were wobbly under him for a second. “Y-yeah.” Jesus Christ. Okay. Kent stuffed the keys in his pocket and led the way into the restaurant, eyes facing resolutely forward.

They found a little table towards the back, where Tater loomed over his side, huge and with his elbows on the table. Kent shifted his feet and immediately made contact with Tater’s under the table.

“Sorry,” Tater said. “Legs too long.”

Kent forced a smile and stared intently at his menu. He couldn’t focus on any of it, so he just tried to calm down. Get his heart rate under control. This wasn’t a big deal. It was just for the bet. “So -- is it just us? Or, like, other people will be here? From the movie?” Goddammit. Kent swallowed and tried again. “Is this a group thing?”

“No. Just you and me.”

Kent nodded. He was pretty sure his face was neutral. Just to be safe, he turned back to his menu again.

Tater nudged a little at his foot. “See anything you like?”

“Uh.” Kent stared at him for a second, not sure whether or not Tater knew the double-meaning in that phrase, but then Tater smirked at him, and some of the tension building up in Kent broke. He snorted, which was embarrassing, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling when Tater laughed at him.

“So cute,” Tater said, teasing. “How could you be single?”

“Ugh, shut up,” Kent said, feeling himself turn scarlet. Tater smiled at him, eyes sparkling, and Kent felt his breath catch in his chest.

Ugh. 

It was literally the worst date in the history of dates. Kent felt like he was red the whole time, and he couldn't get a sentence out without mumbling.

Like -- he wanted to have sex with Tater. That was a thing now. But that didn't explain why he was acting like a complete idiot. Kent was just off his game for some reason.

It didn't help that, every time Kent looked up, Tater was smiling at him like he was in on a joke Kent had missed. It didn’t help that Tater looked so relaxed, shoulders back and arms spread out across the table.

It _certainly_ didn’t help when Tater looked intently, purposefully, at Kent’s mouth for a good five seconds, then met Kent’s eyes with a smile that told Kent way too much about what Tater was thinking.

Kent’s mouth was dry. He needed to think of something to say. He needed something like normalcy here. “So, do you see any guys here you think would be good for me? I haven’t been impressed so far.”

“Hmm.” Tater didn’t look away from Kent’s eyes. “I not want to think about that now.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze, at least for Kent. He watched Tater’s fingers on his fork, tried to swallow his own food without choking, and barely heard a word Tater said over the thrumming of his pulse in his ears. 

He followed Tater back out to the parking lot eventually. The cool air hitting his face did a little to snap him out of it, but not much. 

“You want to drive?” Tater asked, so close behind Kent that he could probably see the goosebumps rising on Kent’s neck.

Kent handed Tater the keys.

At Kent’s hotel, Tater followed Kent up the stairs. They didn’t say anything in the hall, and Kent didn’t know how he managed to get his keycard in the door when everything was red-hot, fuzzy around the edges, when he might have been shaking from how much he wanted what he knew was about to happen. 

He got the door open, and a moment later he was inside his hotel room, Tater backing him up against the door. Tater’s tongue was in Kent’s mouth, his hands were trailing across Kent’s body, lazy at first and then with more intensity. It went on and on, everything narrowed down to hands and mouths, the hot feeling under Kent’s skin, someone else’s body on his.

Tater had him propped up against the door, one knee between Kent’s legs to hold him up, when he deepened the kiss one last time and stepped back, guiding Kent back to the floor so he didn’t fall. “Need to take off shoes,” he said by way of explanation.

“Ahh,” Kent said, maybe. He still had his own shoes on, but he couldn’t really feel his feet. He leaned against Tater as Tater stepped out of his shoes. It was mostly because he felt like he might fall down without support. His forehead only came up to Tater’s shoulder, and he pressed it there until Tater’s hands came up around his waist. 

“Should we --” Kent started to say, but then Tater was kissing him again. Kent basically let Tater carry him from the room, which was hot as fuck but also a necessity since Kent’s legs felt all weird.

Tater took Kent’s shoes off on top of the bed. He took off Kent’s pants, and Kent got up to turn off the light while Tater was taking off his own pants.

“Oh,” Tater said when Kent climbed back into bed. He touched Kent’s face. Kent needed to figure out if he went by any names other than Tater. “Are you shy?”

Tater’s fingers were still moving over Kent’s skin, on his lips and cheekbones and forehead. Kent could hear his own breathing, but he couldn’t remember what Tater had just said. He could feel Tater laughing at him, a sudden burst of hot air on his face. “Fuck me,” Kent said, somehow, and his fingers curled in Tater’s hair.

It was different from how Kent imagined it, and sometimes the same. Kent had figured he’d be fucked over the back of a couch or something, but Tater lifted Kent’s legs over his shoulders while Kent lay on his back. He’d figured Tater would just grunt in his ear the whole time, but Tater kissed him a little and even whispered a few nice things. 

Kent had figured that Tater would leave right after, and he did. He stayed long enough to do the whole spooning thing for enough time that Kent felt respected or whatever, asked if Kent had any food, and left when Kent told him to fuck off. 

“I see you tomorrow?” Tater said. He was looming over Kent in the doorway, and Kent had this dumb urge to grab him by the shirt and tow him back for another kiss. This was not that kind of hook-up, though. 

And, fuck. Kent didn’t want to think too hard about what it would be like seeing Tater tomorrow. He felt -- no. Not going to think about it. “Yeah, no shit. Now get out of here so I can go to sleep.”

Tater smiled at him. He left without kissing Kent again, which sucked. Kent hadn’t realized how much he missed kissing. 

All of that was pretty much what was supposed to happen. In hindsight, Kent felt a little stupid for not realizing until today that Tater had been spending all this time with him so he could have sex with him. He wasn’t sure if Tater wanted it to happen again, or if this was a one-and-done thing, but it probably didn’t matter. 

Kent stared at his ceiling for an hour thinking about it anyway.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Kent must have finally fallen asleep, because he woke up the next morning feeling achy, tired, and weirdly nervous about going to work.

In a twist of fate that made Kent seriously wonder if God was real and actively hated him, he was immediately directed to warm up for a reshoot of the pumpkin patch scene.

“Like, the dialogue?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, starting with _Come here often_ and ending right after the kiss,” Nick said, not looking up from his clipboard. “They’ve already got your wardrobe ready, so as soon as you’re changed, get down to the carts so we can move.”

Kent knew it was immature, but he offered absolutely no help to the costuming team as they got him in his jeans and maroon sweater.

“Kent, wake up,” Emily finally snapped. “It’s like dressing a toddler.”

“You’re not getting mentioned in my Oscars speech,” Kent mumbled, which was his go-to threat around here, but he moved his arms so they’d actually fit through the sleeves.

There wasn’t any way around it. Kent climbed into a golf cart and was taken away to his miserable fate -- standing around in sixty degree weather, trying to avoid eye contact with Tater while the camera crew double-checked their shot, and then trying to slip into his stupid character so they could have a meet-again-cute and a short, sweet kiss.

“Come here often,” Kent mumbled. He stared at Tater’s chest, afraid to look up.

“Yes,” Tater said, sounding like he was holding in a laugh. Which was how he was supposed to sound, but Kent couldn’t stop himself from wondering if it was more than that. “Is my pumpkin patch.”

Kent swallowed. “Oh.” He was pretty sure that was his only line.

He was less sure when, a few beats later, Nick was yelling at him through his stupid megaphone.

“Sorry,” Kent mumbled. He grabbed a copy of the script and tried to get his head in order. “Okay.”

It took four times longer than usual for Kent to get through the scene, and by the time they finally wrapped he was hot and tight under his skin, eyes stinging as he avoided looking at anyone.

Tater was waiting for him when he finally left his trailer. Kent braced himself for whatever was coming and tried to look normal.

“One more date,” Tater said without preamble. “This time, for your bet. Ready?”

Kent's bet. That meant a date for just the two of them, a date that was supposed to make Tater fall in love with Kent.

Kent didn't think that was possible. He felt like crying, a little. It was embarrassing, but he felt like being held. 

And -- no. He wasn't allowed to feel that. “Sure,” Kent said. His heart was beating faster. If Tater actually liked him, he wouldn’t say this was for the bet. At least, Kent didn’t think he would.

“Good,” Tater said. “My car this time. If I am taking you out, then I drive, yes?”

Kent’s throat felt dry. He wanted -- god, he needed to focus. “Where did you want to go?”

“I--” Tater screwed his mouth to the side, thinking. “The word is beating me. Is part of zoo, but we can look at flowers instead of animals?”

“Right.” Kent went there for a wedding once. “Yeah. I can’t think of the word either, but yeah, I get it.”

“Conservatory! I am better in English than you. Ha.”

Kent smiled up at Tater before remembering himself. Jesus. It wasn't the first time Kent had slept with a coworker. He didn't need to be so jumpy about it.

Tater opened the door for Kent to get into his car, letting one hand trail down Kent's back. It was -- it was just a sex thing. Kent knew that.

His stomach hurt. He didn't want it to just be --

“Let's get moving,” Kent said with a sharp smile as Tater climbed into the driver's side.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Tater wanted to buy Dip N Dots as soon as they arrived, but Kent shot that idea down. “But is ice cream of the future,” Tater said sadly.

Kent stared at him, and Tater could only hold the melodramatic look on his face for a few more seconds before he started cracking up. Kent rolled his eyes and let Tater pull him into the conservatory, and it felt like most of the tension was gone.

It felt, kind of, like a date. An actual one. They stopped to read some of the signs, Tater laughing as Kent stumbled over the Latin names of the different plants. Kent took a bunch of selfies with tropical flowers. Tater slipped his hand into Kent’s, warm and solid, and Kent knew it was just part of the bet, but it still sent little shivers of electricity up his arm, still made his heart beat way too fast.

After they finished looking at the indoor exhibit, they wandered outside. There was a little path with signs pointing toward a Japanese water garden, which sounded cool. About halfway down the trail they passed a dude who was crouched on the side of the path and staring at the ground through a huge magnifying glass, which was kind of weird. 

“You should go out with him next,” Tater said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I can go back, set things up.”

Kent crossed his arms immediately, letting go of Tater’s hand in the process. “Ha.”

He shouldn’t have said yes to this date. Not after last night, not after he relapsed or whatever the fuck this was and started getting emotional about things. He’d _known_ that he was going to spend this whole date hoping for it to turn into something real. He’d known it since the moment Tater asked, and he was an idiot. 

As they walked through the water garden, Tater kept up a steady stream of fake-flirting, using his hand on Kent’s back to guide him around corners, smiling at him whenever Kent accidentally made eye contact, touching his arm too much when he was talking, even when Kent barely responded.

“You want a picture by purple flowers?” Tater asked, nudging Kent a little. “You look so cute.”

“Nah,” Kent said. He watched the other guests walking through the garden. 

Tater reached over like he was going to put his arm around Kent, then changed his mind. Kent pretended he didn’t notice. “Is okay. We’ll find a better place for picture, yes?”

Kent tried to be a brick wall. It was pretty easy when he felt embarrassed just for being there, and since Tater’s smiles were appearing less and less, he was pretty sure it was working.

By the time they made their way through the entire garden, the conversation had ground to a complete halt. Kent was pretty sure this was officially the worst date ever.

Then Tater put his hand on the small of Kent’s back again, this time guiding him toward a bench tucked away behind a willow tree, overlooking the garden. “The bet is not working, I think,” he said. 

One hell of an opening line, and pretty much the exact opposite of what Kent wanted to hear. “Yeah, no shit.” 

Tater had his body angled toward Kent on the bench, but he wasn’t really looking at him. “I have put you on the worst dates in the world. I don’t know what I was thinking when I could have put you on date with me. I am very easy to fall in love with. You think you should fall in love with me, for bet?”

Kent’s body felt frozen. This wasn’t fucking funny, and if he let on exactly how upset he was he would probably die of humiliation. “Let’s keep walking,” he said, and stood up before Tater could respond.

When Tater caught up with him, neither of them touched on that conversation topic again. Tater suggested they check out the bonsai trees, but Kent lied about being hungry. He must have sounded really pissed off about it, because Tater didn’t even bother trying to argue, just walked with him over to the food stall.

“All of this is shit,” Kent grumbled. There was no reason to expect anything better from a place like this, just hot dogs and cheese curds, but he glared at Tater anyway before looking at the menu again. “Why didn’t you plan for something to eat?”

“This is the plan,” Tater said. “We buy food.” He looked annoyed, which wasn’t really surprising considering Kent was acting like an asshole, but it still made Kent’s chest hurt.

“Shitty food,” he said anyway. It was easier to be a dick than to let himself feel all the stuff he was feeling. “What the fuck am I supposed to eat?” He scowled at the menu. “A pretzel? Funnel cake? Is there anything here that doesn’t have a million carbs?”

Tater didn’t answer. 

Kent bought a corn dog, which he honestly wasn’t really that mad about, and snorted unkindly when Tater got Dip N Dots. “Do you still wanna see anything else, or can we go?” he asked as they wandered past a row of benches.

He only got a shrug in response.

Kent clenched his jaw and tried to blink away the stinging in his eyes without being too obvious. “I’m good to go whenever. This date kinda blows.”

“You don’t need to be asshole,” Tater said, about as calmly as anyone could say something like that. 

They left, then. Tater was polite but quiet. Kent avoided talking to Tater or even looking at him for the whole drive back to where his own car was parked, burying his face in his phone. 

When they got to the parking lot, Kent’s fingers were shaking. He shoved his phone in his pocket and scrambled for the door handle. “Have a good night, Kent,” Tater said as Kent finally climbed out of the car. “Take care of yourself.”

It felt like a goodbye, one that would last longer than just the night. It felt like a dismissal. 

Kent couldn’t stop thinking about it -- not during his drive back to the hotel, not while he was showering, not when he was looking at pictures of his cat on his phone in a vain attempt to make himself at least feel sad about something else. 

The truth was: he hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He hadn’t felt this way in _years_. And it was stupid, because he barely knew Tater. Outside of work, they’d hung out only a handful of times. It was stupid, and Kent hated feeling stupid, but he wanted to be close to Tater in a way that he’d thought he was done wanting.

He hated that. Even more, he hated that he’d been so obvious that Tater had figured it out, that Tater had used it against him. It sucked that they’d had a fight, too, but it was probably inevitable that Tater would eventually see what an asshole Kent was. Better that Tater hated him now than later, Kent thought, except it didn’t really feel better at all.

It was only a few minutes past eight, but Kent turned out all the lights and crawled into bed. He’d been fucking avoiding all this romantic shit ever since Jack. It made him feel stupid, and it wasn’t fair that Tater was treating it like a joke.

Kent shoved his head under his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. He kind of was a joke, was the thing, and he’d been an idiot to put himself in this situation in the first place.

The only good thing he could think of was that this would all be over tomorrow. No more dates, no more flirting, and then Kent could go back to the way things used to be.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


“That’s perfect,” the director said, and Kent sighed in relief. He’d been reshooting for hours, and had somehow managed to avoid crossing paths with Tater all morning.

Kent grabbed his water bottle and downed half of it in one go. “Anything else you need me for?” he asked, gasping a little for breath as Nick approached him.

“Yeah, actually,” the director said. “We never got around to doing a reshoot of your scene with Alexei at the county fair.”

“Oh.” Kent knew he couldn’t hide from Tater forever, but he still felt anxious about it. Everything was still too raw, and he didn’t think he’d be able to keep it off his face. “Do we really have time to recreate that whole set?”

Nick gave him a weird look, which was fair. It wasn’t really Kent’s place to offer advice on the production side. “All you need is a table and chairs in front of a food stall front. We have plenty of extras here already. Can you tell the team you need county fair costume, hair, and makeup, and get to stage C in twenty?”

Kent briefly wondered if he could get away with setting a small fire on-set to get out of this. Just a small one. “Sure.”

He took his sweet time, mostly to get his head in the right place and make sure he trusted himself to stay in-character. It must have worked, because the reshoot was relatively painless. Tater was a professional, and Kent was a professional, and the new assistant director told them they were “very charming”.

“Cool,” Kent said.

After they were done, Kent changed into his regular clothes as fast as he could, being kind of rude to the wardrobe team in the process, but it was worth it when he checked the hall and Tater wasn't waiting for him.

Kent had another small moment of terror when he got out into the parking lot, because he could just imagine Tater leaned up against Kent’s car, ready to demand an apology or fake-flirt with him, but the coast was clear. Kent fished his keys out of his pocket and hit the unlock button.

Just then, he heard footsteps behind him. Loud footsteps. Running footsteps.

By the time Tater had caught up to him, Kent already had a fake smile pasted on. “What’s up?” he said, heart beating too fast.

“I not see you leave.” Tater was a little out of breath, but it just made him look hotter -- eyes bright, skin glowing, big and tall and not meant for Kent. “Will you sit with me?”

Kent was momentarily overwhelmed by the urge to run away. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of a semi-believable excuse. “Uh, sure. But I gotta go soon, so just for a few minutes.”

He pocketed his keys and followed Tater to a picnic table in the grass next to the parking lot. He didn't know why someone would put a picnic table here; it wasn't a relaxing place to sit at all. Kent felt vaguely sick to his stomach.

“So, big plans tonight?” Tater asked.

Kent shrugged. He had absolutely nothing planned, but he was the one who’d said he had to go soon. “Yeah. Uh, doctor’s appointment.”

Tater looked at him carefully, almost worried. “You are sick?”

“No.” Kent tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. It was a totally normal question. He was an idiot to feel so much just because Tater made a basic, everyday inquiry about Kent’s health. “Just a regular check-up, you know.”

“That is good.”

Kent nodded and looked at his hands. He couldn’t think of anything to say. The silence was just sitting there, and Tater was just sitting there, and Kent wanted --

“Last day of bet,” Tater said conversationally, and Kent tried to hide his flinch. “Is too bad we never made a prize better than food for the winner, but watching you have problem with so many stupid men is good prize for me.”

It seemed like Tater was just going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen, which was probably for the best. Kent dug his fingernails into the table and kept his mouth shut. He smiled, because that seemed to be what Tater was going for, but it felt stiff and unnatural on his face.

“Don’t know which was my favorite,” Tater added. “Guy from bowling? Very classic.”

“Yeah,” Kent said. He wanted to be funny. He just couldn’t get his voice to cooperate. “He was a stud.”

Tater smiled at him, big and unguarded. It felt awful, like something was opening in Kent’s chest. “So many good choices in front of you. Now we settle bet, Kent. Tell me -- with every man you see this week, did you fall in love?”

Kent shrugged. His throat felt sore. “No. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ah,” Tater said. His shoulders drooped a little, but that was probably Kent’s imagination. “Not even a little?”

Kent didn’t think he could survive being rejected again. It was humiliating to recognize this in himself, that he was weak and needy like this, but Kent would rather be weak and needy and protected than weak and needy and ripped open, so he put on his best smirk. “Nobody. I mean, come on. It’s like you wanted to lose.”

Tater looked Kent in the eye, and Kent had to look down. “Well then,” Tater said after a moment, “I guess I lose.”

Kent shrugged. Between the two of them, he was probably the one who actually lost, but like. Whatever.

A minute slowly ticked by. They weren’t done yet. Kent had his own side of the bet, but he felt like he’d lowkey rather have his heart cut out than ask Tater if he had feelings for Kent and hear a no.

Tater was watching him.

“Uh,” Kent said. He had never felt smaller, like he was about as close to being literally nothing as a person could be. He tried to sound casual anyway. “Did you, like. Fall in love with me at all?”

Tater was quiet for a moment. Kent couldn’t look at him, was afraid he’d do something awful like let his face show what he was feeling, so he stared off to the side and tried to look blank. “Yes,” Kent heard Tater say. “I do.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Kent didn't move. For one surreal moment, he wondered if he was being Punk’d. It had to be -- Tater was joking. There was no way he really --

Kent looked down at his feet and tried to process this like it was true, like it was real life. He couldn’t get his mind around it. “Oh.”

Tater sat across from him, waiting. “Well, I not mean to bother you,” he said after a few beats. “Just to say truth.” He started to stand up.

And -- no. Kent was done ruining things. He felt his heart lurch, but he tried to ignore it. This was his one chance, and it was happening now whether he was ready for it or not. 

“Wait,” he said. “I mean….” He stared up at Tater, heart pounding too fast, but he didn’t know how to even finish his sentence.

Tater got to his feet, and Kent didn’t even consider for a second that he might be leaving. Which was bizarre -- Kent always thought people were leaving -- but Tater had moved around to sit on the bench next to Kent before Kent had time to feel weird about it. 

“What are you thinking?” Tater asked. He was holding Kent’s hand. Almost too tight, but Kent liked it. “Come, tell me.” 

“I guess -- I do love you. Or like you a lot.” Kent took a deep breath, which was embarrassingly shaky. “I don’t know. Yeah.” 

“That is good,” Tater said, and then he tipped Kent’s face up and leaned in. 

It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was the first time in a long time that Kent had kissed someone who could look him in the eye and say that he cared. The difference was immediate, nothing like it had been when they’d hooked up over the weekend. Tater’s mouth was slow and warm against his. It was nice, and distantly Kent realized that it could just stay this way. It was weird that he was kissing someone for once without the expectation that they’d be hooking up within five minutes. Kent liked how it felt. 

It wasn’t the greatest angle for Kent’s neck, though, and soon Tater picked him up and set him down on top of the picnic table, legs dangling off the side. There was a pause as Tater checked that Kent was comfortable, and then they were kissing again. Every touch -- Tater’s hand on his knee, the way he moved away from Kent’s mouth to kiss his nose before returning to Kent’s lips -- was so sweet that Kent felt like he could have been eighteen and never been hurt before.

Finally -- Kent didn’t know how much time had passed, only that he was breathless and his hair was messed up and he probably looked super pink -- Tater pulled away a few inches, his nose sliding up Kent’s face as he backed up. “Kent,” Tater said. He had that look in his eye like he was trying not to laugh. Kent couldn’t wait to be in on the joke. “We not supposed to practice kissing off-set. Director’s orders.”

Kent burst out laughing. It was a little too much, probably bordering on ugly and very possibly sending a gross spray of saliva onto Tater’s face, but Tater grinned back at him like he was the best thing on earth. 

That was a lot to deal with. Kent pulled Tater in for another kiss, and it was the best one yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for reading! I did make a playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BIMpM1qDaMcbLeMa3w0pp), just for the thrill of it, so check that out if you're interested. 
> 
> Also (jumping on my soapbox for a second here), I always gotta recommend [blue_rocket_frost's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/pseuds/blue_rocket_frost/works?fandom_id=1147379) Patater fics because my love for them is so real that it would honestly be fair to say this read on their relationship was more fanfic of that specific Patater dynamic than of actual Check Please canon. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking around! Honk if you liked it :).


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